by Jamie Beck
“For what?” He let her go, even though part of him had thought to pull her closer.
“For caring.” She gestured toward the path back to the Weber home and hefted herself to the top of the seawall. “A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have.”
He followed behind her in silence. She’d spoken the truth. And yet, even more surprising than that was discovering he could forgive her and be a friend. Forgiveness might be freeing if he weren’t starting to look at her like he used to. If he weren’t, once again, feeling like his heart only found its rhythm when it synchronized with hers.
Despite his resistance, the town, the memories, his daughter’s fascination, and his mother’s meddling had affected him. Out of the blue, he mumbled, “Maybe there’s hope for Peyton and Claire, after all.”
Steffi looked over her shoulder as they emerged from the path into the Weber backyard, and flashed a quick grin. “Thank God I won’t have to call you Eeyore. I was going to hate that.”
Chapter Ten
Steffi paid Brian, one of Benny’s hardware store employees, in cash for helping her install the windows for the Quinn project. He’d been great in a pinch—and hadn’t flashed any plumber’s butt—but now she owed Benny a favor for giving Brian the half day off to help her. She needed her own crew going forward or she’d be doing her brother’s laundry for a decade. She waved goodbye as Brian pulled the beet-red Lockwood Hardware van away from the curb. Then she returned to the back of the house to finish up for the day.
The bright, crisp late-afternoon weather invited her to tip her face toward the sun and close her eyes. Life had been rather unpleasant and lonely at times. Now that was changing—becoming more vibrant like the gold-and-orange leaves overhead. Everything looked more beautiful.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Molly and Mick through the newly installed windows.
“I love the way this room is shaping up,” Molly called out as they came through the French doors, the sunlight glinting off her large silver earrings. As always, she moved with efficiency, looking smart in her black corduroys and layered cream-colored shirts. Steffi would never be that chic.
“You’ve got some skills, girlie.” Mick nodded before stalking off to the garage.
“I’m glad you’re both pleased, because there’s no turning back now.” Steffi smiled at Molly. The space was coming together, but she still had a lot to do. This room would always be part of the house and the Quinns’ lives. No matter what became of her and Ryan and where they ended up, he’d think of her anytime he wandered into this space. She’d leave something permanent behind, and that made her smile.
Mick emerged from the garage with his golf clubs and opened his trunk, tossing them in the back. He offered them a quick wave before pulling out of the driveway. His gout must’ve improved considerably.
“Thank God he’s finally getting out of the house. World’s worst patient,” Molly said. “Anyhow, I was worried that this room would darken the kitchen, but it’s so sunny. Once you break the wall into the hallway, I think it will actually brighten the dining and living room, too.”
“I agree.” Steffi grabbed her sponge and rubbing alcohol and began removing the black-and-yellow stickers from the windows. “This extra space will come in handy with Ryan and Emmy living here.”
Molly crossed her arms, grimacing. “It can’t be easy for my son to live with his parents at his age.”
“He appreciates your help, but it’ll be nice when he and Val settle things so he can move forward.” She put a little elbow grease into her work.
“Val.” Molly rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “His biggest mistake.”
Molly’s obvious dislike of Val pleased Steffi. It meant Molly wouldn’t encourage Ryan to fix his marriage or discourage him from starting a new relationship.
“We all make them.” Steffi hoped she sounded more charitable than she felt toward Val. She peeled away another set of stickers. “It’s too bad about the timing, though. Ryan mentioned that the Weber cottage might come on the market. It’d be perfect for him and Emmy.”
“Wouldn’t it? But I doubt he’ll get his finances in order that quickly.” Molly’s nostrils flared. “Whatever transpired between him and Val when he picked up Emmy Monday put him in a horrid mood, too, which doesn’t bode well for a quick divorce settlement.”
Steffi hadn’t seen Ryan since Saturday when he’d dropped her off at the end of the night. Other than that terrible incident when she’d clocked his jaw, their night together had filled her with breezy hope, like the wind lifting a sail at broad reach and propelling a ship forward.
There’d been those seconds in the car when her hand had stalled on the door handle, that the air between them ignited like the old days—sweet and sexy and fraught with anticipation. She waited one breath—maybe two—but he didn’t lean in to kiss her good night, not even on the cheek. That behavior warned her that, despite her wishes, he might never let himself go there with her again. Not after the way she’d burned him.
“Did Emmy enjoy Block Island?” Steffi balled up the stickers and plastic and tossed the wads into the trash can.
“I’m not sure.” Molly held on to her right elbow, drumming the fingers of her right hand against her cheek. “She didn’t explode with stories, like I expected.”
“Really?” Steffi stilled. “That’s unusual.”
“Maybe she’ll open up to you when she gets home from school.”
“Me?” Steffi’s brows shot up. “Why would she tell me anything before she tells you?”
“You’re young and hip. I’m . . . well, Methuselah.” Molly laughed, having never cared much about her age.
Steffi chuckled. “Hardly!”
“To Emmy I am. We’re both old to her.” Molly waved her pointer finger. “You’re just less so.”
She patted Molly’s arm. “Well, I hope I’m half as cool as you when I’m your age.”
“I wish your mother could see you now,” Molly said out of nowhere. “She’d be proud.”
“Would she?” Steffi barely choked those words out. Her mother had been a gentle woman. A homemaker who valued her family, God, and baking, above all else. Steffi’s ambition and lame skill in the kitchen probably wouldn’t earn her mom’s praise. Neither would her reticence to give and receive love.
“Of course she would. What mother wouldn’t be tickled to raise such an independent young woman?”
“One that wanted lots of grandkids.” She braced for the itchy hives that the idea of motherhood usually produced. Strangely, none appeared.
“You’ve got time.”
Molly turned to go inside, but Steffi called out, “Molly, do you have any idea what Gretta wants for her mom’s house?”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “She mentioned four hundred grand.”
“For that ramshackle little bungalow?” The Quinn house would fetch more than that, but it had four bedrooms, two and a half baths, double the square footage, and was well maintained.
“It’s a waterfront lot. Maybe one of these rich outsiders would ante up to raze the building, clear the trees for a view of the sound, and start from scratch.”
“A teardown!” Her heart squeezed. “A McMansion would destroy the charm of this lane. That cottage should be preserved. God, I wish Ryan could buy it. I’d fix it for free rather than see it torn down.”
Molly’s gaze sharpened. “Could you buy it and flip it?”
“I want to, but Claire’s in charge of our finances. We don’t really have that kind of cash, and a big mortgage isn’t in the budget.”
Molly licked her thumb and rubbed at a smudge of glue still stuck to a window. “What if you found an investor?”
An investor? Steffi hadn’t considered taking on a new partner. Claire might not be interested, either. But that cottage . . . “I don’t know anyone with the money or interest.”
“Even after this project, I’ll have a decent amount of my inheritance left. Maybe I could kick in a little.”
�
�Why would you do that?”
“To buy Ryan time to get his situation in order . . .”
Steffi’s breath fell short, thanks to her quickening heartbeat. Remodeling that house for Ryan and Emmy would be almost as rewarding as if her old dreams had come true. “Would Gretta talk to me before she lists with a broker? Maybe I can convince her not to let her childhood home be torn down. If there aren’t broker fees and I hand her a list of necessary improvements, I could whittle the price down.”
“I’ll get you her number.” Molly turned away and then back again, clicking her fingernail against her front teeth. “Let’s not mention this to Ryan. He’d accuse me of coddling him.”
Keeping a secret from Ryan just when they were becoming friends gave her pause, but it wasn’t her secret to tell. Then again, this was more of a surprise than a secret. That kind of secret was okay to keep. “No problem.”
“Where are you going?” Emmy chased Steffi down the lane, hair ribbons flying in the wind as her headful of curls bounced with each step.
“To look at a house.” Steffi glanced at her watch. Gretta should be waiting to let her take a cursory walk through the cottage. Steffi’s mission: to pluck Gretta’s sentimental heartstrings and, hopefully, collect a laundry list of problems to reduce the price.
“Are you moving there?” Emmy’s breathless glee made Steffi smile.
“No. But I hope to fix it up for some nice family.” Steffi pictured Emmy playing on the porch while Ryan read on the swing.
“Why can’t you live there?” She zipped her lavender windbreaker when a stiff breeze blew.
“This house deserves a family, not someone like me.” Steffi stopped in front of the Weber home and ruffled Emmy’s hair.
Emmy examined the dilapidated cottage and tossed her a skeptical look. “It looks spooky.”
“It’s just neglected, silly goose. With a little TLC, it’ll be beautiful.”
Emmy’s forehead wrinkled the same way Ryan’s did when he didn’t understand someone’s reasoning. “Can I come look?”
“I don’t think so, honey. Mrs. Weber isn’t well and might get a little too tired with extra visitors. Go do your homework, and when I get back, I’ll show you pictures. If we have extra time, I’ll teach you to use the nail gun so you can help me trim out your memaw’s new windows.”
“Nail gun!” Emmy fist pumped. “Okay!”
In a flash, she skipped back down the lane toward Molly’s house.
Thirty minutes later, Steffi had to be pried out of the bungalow. She didn’t covet material things often, but she adored this house. She imagined a puppy’s pitter-patter across the heartwood pine plank flooring. Arched openings that allowed flow from the living and dining rooms into the small kitchen would also allow the aroma of chicken noodle soup to waft through the home. That massive river rock fireplace would be perfect for Christmas stockings and romantic evenings. Two ample upstairs bedrooms could comfortably house a couple and two kids. The first-floor laundry area was conveniently located. Those features and the flat parcel were its pluses.
It had flaws, too. Only one full bathroom, with questionable plumbing. Some of the flooring was black from wear, while other uneven parts required more than refinishing work. The yellowed rings tattooed across the ceilings suggested water damage that hadn’t been addressed, and the roof needed to be replaced. The plaster walls had more cracks than the streets after a rough winter. And the kitchen and bathroom both needed a gut job. She wouldn’t even talk about the odor. The combo of sickly people and cats do not help sell a home.
While walking back to the Quinns, she began framing an argument to convince Claire to invest in this flip. It’d be best if she didn’t need Molly’s help, even though her offer seemed sincere. If Gretta would sell for close to three hundred grand, Steffi could put another fifty or seventy in and then sell it in the low to mid fours. Its location would make it desirable despite its smaller size. And really, she wanted it for Ryan.
“Show me pictures!” Emmy jumped up from her spot on the living room floor as soon as Steffi entered the house.
“Okay.” She took a seat at the dining table and described each photo as Emmy swiped through them.
“It’s ugly.” Emmy wrinkled her nose. “That furniture is old !”
“Try to imagine it without the furniture. And picture a brand-new kitchen and bathroom, polished floors, a newer railing up the stairs, and wider archways.”
Emmy grabbed her head and shook it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sorry,” Steffi laughed. “I just mean that I can go in and make the inside look new and clean. It will be a cozy beach house, maybe even as nice as the one you visited with your mom.”
Emmy scowled and opened her arms wide. “That was a big house.”
“I said as nice, not as big.” Steffi put her phone aside and did a little digging. “Block Island is a beautiful place. Did you love it?”
“It was okay.” Emmy shrugged. She slid off her chair and went to the refrigerator to get a bunch of grapes.
Steffi remained at the table. “Just okay? Did it rain or something?”
Emmy plucked a grape and tested its plumpness between her forefinger and thumb. “I don’t like John. He took Mom away from us. He doesn’t like me, so now my mom doesn’t want me anymore, either.” Emmy’s flat delivery should’ve been easier to take than a teary one, yet the acceptance in her voice put a lump in Steffi’s throat.
“Emmy, of course your mom wants you.” She stroked the girl’s head. “She loves you.”
“I heard them.” Emmy popped that red grape in her mouth and then, after she swallowed it, cupped her mouth and brashly whispered, “John’s a loud whisperer.”
“I’m sure you misunderstood.” Steffi wanted to pull Emmy onto her lap and hug her, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t Emmy’s mother or aunt or even Ryan’s girlfriend.
“I’m not dumb.” Emmy scowled and snatched two more grapes. “My mom asked about taking me with them to London, and he said no. He said he doesn’t want to be a dad or change the itin . . . itinimerry because of me.”
That ass. If Steffi had been alone, she might have thrown something at the wall. Ryan must’ve gone bananas when he heard. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, Emmy. He’s not used to kids. Or maybe he has a surprise planned for your mom, and it would be a bad time to have you with them. There’s always next time.”
“I don’t even want to go on vacation with him. He’s not fun.”
“He could be intimidated by you.” Steffi hoped Emmy’s attitude would improve if she felt a sense of power. Steffi’s usually did.
“Not hardly!” Emmy rolled her eyes and put the grapes back in the refrigerator.
“Well, was the beach nice?” Steffi had been raised not to be a Negative Nellie, and it had served her well. Emmy needed a lesson in shifting her perception. “Tell me at least one good thing about your trip.”
“I could see the ocean from my bedroom, but you had to go down a million steps to get to the beach. There were tons of rocks there, so I couldn’t build sandcastles. And we didn’t go sailing . . .”
Steffi raised a hand to stop the fire-hydrant gush of complaints. “Hang on. How about you think harder about some of the good things. Did you catch a fish? Meet a new friend? Read a good book? Shop with your mom?”
“I got this new dress.” She lifted the hem of her Black Watch plaid jumper.
“It’s very nice for fall.” Steffi noticed Emmy’s black tights and ankle boots. She looked like a shrunken Teen Vogue cover girl. More put together than Steffi on most days.
“It’s okay.” Emmy shrugged. “So can we use the nail gun now?”
“Is your homework done?”
“Uh-huh.” Emmy nodded, smiling for the first time in fifteen minutes.
“Okay, then. Go change and meet me outside.”
Ryan passed Steffi’s van, which she’d parked in front of his mom’s house, before he pulled into the dr
iveway. He hadn’t seen her since Saturday night, but the way his heart just lurched made him wary. His caseload, divorce, and daughter were more than he could handle at the moment. Renewed feelings for Steffi Lockwood—not ideal. Not now, anyway.
He slammed his door shut and heard Emmy yell, “Cool!”
“Be careful and steady,” came Steffi’s reply.
When he rounded the corner of the house, he saw his daughter at Steffi’s side holding a nail gun in both hands. He could tell by the way she was using her body to support her elbows that the gun was too heavy for her to keep steady.
Steffi helped position it along the window trim, then lent her body as support behind Emmy to absorb any kickback. When Emmy pulled the trigger, a pop resounded.
“I got a report about more child labor law violations.” Ryan approached them, smiling. Seeing Emmy happy after last night’s melodrama came as a relief. “I suppose you’re expecting me to represent you?”
“Can’t beat the price,” Steffi joked.
He narrowed his eyes but grinned. Val disdained his career and had constantly pressured him to go into private practice, where he could charge huge sums to wealthy clients looking to buy their freedom. But Steffi had never cared much about wealth. She’d liked simple things and people, and valued hard work and results. No one on the girls’ varsity team had trained harder.
“Look, Dad. We’re trimming out windows.” Emmy repositioned the gun a few inches to the right of the last nail. “Here?”
Steffi nodded and braced her again. Pop!
“I’m impressed, princess.” Ryan kissed her head. “You know more about remodeling than I do at this point.”
“That’s not hard.” She shrugged.
“Hey! I can change a light bulb,” he teased. “But you’re right. There’s not much I can teach you about this kind of work.”
Emmy patted his arm. “Don’t worry. You can teach me about sailing.”
“Deal.” He high-fived her.
“Can we go this weekend?”
He set his briefcase down because he might be standing there for a while longer. “If the weather’s good, sure.”
